The storyteller

It was near dusk with the skies darkening on the distance, yet the village was abuzz with excitement. It was the time of their fortnightly ritual, in few hours whole village would gather under the huge Banyan tree. The tree itself was old, as old as time, with roots as deep beneath the earth as tall it stood above the ground, and many other roots stemming from other branches, it looked like a rather large umbrella, an umbrella covering the whole world. 

The tree however was not nearly as fascinating as the man sitting underneath it. He was an old man too, though it was hard to tell how old he was, nobody in the village remembered. He had silvery white beard,  he used to limp when walking, he didn't have a home and yet he was the most important person in the whole village. He was not thier leader, he used to tell them stories, everytime when the moon was full and when it was completely disappeared. Nobody even knew his real name, they just called him the storyteller. 

Once everyone was present, he'll always start by telling them about the story, and how he came to know of it, mostly he was the protagonist, but sometimes he was the loyal sidekick, other times a bystander. Nobody really believed him that he himself has visited all the places, but they kept quiet. There was magic in his voice. 

Some days he'd tell them about the Valor of the old heroes, who'd fight a hundred man and still came unscathed which made the young itching for the taste of glory, some days he'll tell passionate tales about the forbidden love of the queen and her lover across the sea, which would make women lower their gaze and full of desire. On the other days he'd tell them about the wonders of the world, like the three legged dog who could talk like humans or the parrot who can tell the future, leaving the kids always requesting their parents for one. often he'd tell a tale about the struggles of gods with their immortality and the curse that comes with it. There was not one thing he couldn't tell a tale about. Everyone loved him and he basked in the glory of it. Everyone would ask him for advice and even when it'll rain, he'd look up to the sky at that point and make a big show of talking to the rain God. His forecasts were incorrect, more often than not, but nobody seemed to mind that. 

But as things goes, everything comes with an expiration date. The strong replaces the weak, the old replaces the new. However our storyteller demise came not because of a person but because of a thing. 

It was a rather small thing too, small enough to carry around, black of color and has a huge metal rod sprouting out of it. When you turn that knob right and open the metal rod completely, voices will come out of it. Some of them singed, better than he'd ever heard, some told stories, better than the ones he used to tell and some would tell about the rain and then it'd actually rain the other day, or the day after. The wandered who had  brought it to the village called it the "radio". 

When the realization finally hit the old man that he's being replaced, it hit him hard, there would be fewer and fewer people who would come for the story, mostly out of habit, and even among them, few would always be distracted, some of them begged him to come with them to listen to the radio. He refused to even get near it. when I was a child, the great empire was destroyed by such sorcery he'd say. But deep down even he knew, at that moment that he wasn't fooling anyone. 

And so as the inevitable night approached, the old man grew restless and bitter, he'd not eat, will shout at children, refuse to speak. Some people tried reasoning with him, he rebuffed. He sulked and he sulked and waited for his good days to return.  Alas, the river that is time flows in only one direction!! 

He knew he had to leave the village, every passing night he seemed more and more convinced that it's the only way. So that fateful day he got up and went to every single house in the village. Tonight I'm gonna tell you the greatest story ever told in the history,it is also the last story I'm gonna tell, you must come - he told everyone. Some agreed, some gave non commital answer. But mostly people agreed, not because they wanted the story but because they wanted this to be over once and for all. 

When the crowd gathered beneath the Banyan tree, he slowly climbed the stairs of the platform they had made on it. There was no moon that night, the wind was cold and the birds silent. The stars seemed distant too,one day you all loved me , now you all have forsaken me - he thought, bitterly .  All but you darkness, my oldest friend. 

There was much murmuring in the crowd but it died down once he began the story. It was a story of a sailor who set out on a journey to find a new world so he could give it to the women he loved to win her favor as she loved him not. His journey was marred with troubles, he lost everything he ever had and found himself in that journey. He did discover a new world though. His voice filled with excitement whenever he told them about the wonders of the sea, a lump in his throat came when he was telling them about the women he loved, fear resonated when he described the storm, there was a collective audible gasp when he described the appearance of the natives and how they almost ate him, the stars reflected in his teary eyes when he told them about the new world that he had discovered, and when he finally returned  home and was greeted by the girl he loved, there was overwhelming cheer from the crowd, a happiness that can only comes when good triumphs over evil. 

So-continued the storyteller, did you find a new world like you promised asked the girl he loved.  You're married??  he asked . I didn't know if you were coming back said the girl. Did you find the new world??  I did - he said, but I'm not gonna give it to you. I loved you and yet you courted another when I was not here. I gave my life to you and that's how you repay me.  And then he collapsed - said the storyteller and he made a collapsing gesture. 

The crowd waited for him to get up and complete the story. And then a young man from the crowd understood the meaning of his final words. They tried to wake him up, but he lay there, peacefully. There was a smile on his face, the satisfaction of completing the job. He lived as the best storyteller there ever was and died as one.